


Me, You, and the Ghosts Between

by yumi_michiyo



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Contains controversial opinions, Dark, Disturbing Themes, F/F, Family Fluff, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Moving On, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: Recently widowed, Rachel Berry-Fabray is left to pick up the pieces of her life. Things get even more complicated when she finds out what Quinn's been hiding. A multichapter darkfic. Faberry.





	1. Supervised Learning

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm finally writing Faberry again! I hate to burst your bubble, but this isn't the nice and fluffy Faberry content you might be expecting. Nope, heavy warnings for  **major character death and some highly controversial themes dealing with the character's death**  (no spoilers, but if you're not okay with the major character death bit this may not be the fic for you. I can't stress this enough).
> 
> That being said, if you're still with me, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank **_Mike Ownby_**  here. He's graciously agreed to not only look over my stuff for general errors and Americanization, but also serve as a beta for all my Glee fics. Any further mistakes still lingering are my own.

 

The last thing Rachel wanted was to be disturbed. She treasured her solitude since she had plenty of it these days, and rarely left her house.

But Brittany Pierce-Lopez was a dear family friend, and had been for years. She was one of the few people Rachel would leave her house to show up at some nondescript coffee shop for, on nothing but a cryptic text message's notice.

She was lucky that the Johnsons' teenage daughter was willing to babysit Elly for the afternoon on such short notice; Rachel wasn't sure why Brittany seemed to think they needed a few hours for coffee, but she knew better than to argue.

"She just went down for a nap," whispered Rachel as she led Maureen through the house. "If she wakes up hungry, there's a bottle in the fridge for her. I should be back long before dinner, but just in case, you know where the formula is."

Maureen nodded. "Got it, Ms. B."

They hesitated in the doorway. Rachel wanted to kiss her daughter goodbye, but worried that she might wake. Despite her tender age, Elly had been remarkably clingy since losing her other mother.

Deciding against it, Rachel backed away. "I should get going, or I'll be late," she said.

"Okay. I'll call if anything comes up." Maureen followed her back to the front door. "And, uh… I'm really sorry for your loss, and I hope you're doing okay. I liked Ms. Q. a lot; she always treated me like I was an adult."

Rachel managed a smile for her. With her dark hair, strong features, and hardheadedness, Quinn had been fond of saying Maureen could have been Rachel's daughter if she'd been the one to get pregnant in high school. "Thank you." Perhaps she was making good progress in the grieving stage; Maureen's clumsy yet heartfelt condolences were balm on her wound instead of salt.

Bidding goodbye to them, Rachel tucked her coat tighter around herself and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The weather was fine, she would walk.

She'd always loved walking in New York in spite of the weather. Quinn had been the one to gently bully her into taking taxis; first when her career was starting to take off and she was being recognized, and then later, when she was pregnant with Elly. And now that Quinn was gone, there was no one to talk her out of walking again.

The coffee shop that Brittany had selected wasn't far. Rachel put her hands into her pockets and joined the throng heading up the street, bracing herself against the light wind that had started to blow.

In the six months since Quinn's passing, this was only the third time she'd left her apartment; the first for the funeral, and the second when she brought Elly to stay with her fathers in Lima for a few weeks for a change of scenery.

Quinn was moderately well-known as a lecturer and academic in her own right in addition to being married to the Broadway actress Rachel Berry, and there had been a fair bit of paparazzi attention that she didn't feel like dealing with; they'd even been as bold as to stake out the hospital during Quinn's final days. They were worse than the cancer that had taken her wife. Rachel cast a baleful glance at the man with a camera around his neck hurrying in the opposite direction, and immediately felt guilty.

Thankfully for her frame of mind, the walk to the coffeeshop was unmarred with cameras. Perhaps they had forgotten about her.

Rachel arrived at the shop and immediately spotted Brittany sitting at a table in the back. Brittany stood up to greet her as she approached. "Thanks for coming, Rach." She was quickly enveloped in a hug that brought up bittersweet memories of the past, as did the nickname. Rachel blinked back unexpected tears.

"Anytime, Britt. I'm sorry I'm late; I had to wait for Elly's babysitter."

"You're not late; I only just got here myself." Brittany fetched her purse. Rachel followed suit, and they walked to the counter to place their orders.

Her cappuccino with coconut milk was a daily habit for the past fifteen years since she'd moved to New York. She hasn't paid for it for the past ten; it was a habit of Quinn's to buy it for her. The swell of emotion Rachel experienced when she paid for her own drink was bittersweet, tinged with embarrassment; she had always been sentimental, but this was ridiculous.

"How are you and Elly?"

"We're fine." Rachel stirred her spoon through the foam. "She's started sleeping regularly and she has this amazing appetite. If she doesn't get her bottle when she wakes up, well… let's just say she'll put every diva tantrum I've ever had –  _combined_  – to shame."

Brittany smiled. "She got that from you."

Rachel shrugged. "I only hope that's all she got from me." She gave Brittany her most disingenuous smile. "So, what's up? You sounded pretty excited in your text."

Brittany pursed her lips in a worried frown. "You didn't really answer my question."

"Which question?"

"Rach, we both know that you're not as good at changing the subject as you think you are."

That got a wry, grudging smile from Rachel.

"You don't look so good, Rach. Are you taking care of yourself? How's Elly?" Brittany continued.

"Too many questions, Britt." She smiled a thin-lipped smile. "I manage. So does Elly; it's a good thing she isn't old enough to really understand what's going on."

"You should call us more. San and I would be happy to babysit, or the both of you could even stay with us for a while. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm not alone," said Rachel quietly. "I've got Elly."

"But, Rach – "

"– Britt, are you gonna tell me why you called me out here?" Her tone remained calm and even, and Brittany winced.

"Yeah. Of course. Uh – it's a good thing you got these to go. I need to show you something."

Rachel didn't ask why; she simply hummed her acknowledgment and stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She left her cup to steam on the table.

"Aren't you gonna take that?"

"No," said Rachel.

* * *

Brittany's workshop was a good fifteen minutes drive from their home, as per Santana's stipulations. She didn't want work and their personal life to be hopelessly entangled, but she also didn't want Brittany to spend too much time commuting back and forth, especially when inspiration struck in the middle of the night.

The warehouse smelled musty. Rachel stuck close to Brittany as their surroundings were poorly lit, and she didn't want to stumble into anything dangerous.

Brittany took a while to unlock the door. Rachel watched as she fished out a ring of keys. "How many locks do you have?" asked Rachel in disbelief as the barrel lock clicked open – the fourth Brittany had unlocked.

"A few," replied her friend absently. She slid the combination lock off the bolt and opened the door. "There we go." Brittany fumbled with the wall, and shortly the lights came on to reveal a messy workspace with several points on the floor where objects seemed to gravitate to.

"It's been a while since I was last here," said Rachel. She touched the panel of the nearest project. "Gonna give me a tour?"

"That's a hybrid fuel cell," said Brittany, nodding at what Rachel was examining. "Bill asked me to design a new one for the city buses."

"Bill?"

"Mayor Bill."

Rachel wasn't surprised that her friend was on a first-name basis with the mayor of New York. It was hard to care when most of her high school class were influential people in the city themselves; they'd done pretty well for a bunch of kids from the Midwest. "Ah. And this?"

Brittany shrugged. "My teleporter. I got the idea from  _Star Trek_. It doesn't work. I haven't managed to work out the bugs with the quantum matter atomizer." She pulled a face. "It did unspeakable things to the apples I used to test it with."

"You'll get it to work soon, Britt." Rachel smiled fondly at her friend – while also giving the teleporter a wide berth.

"Thanks. But that's not what I wanted to show you." She led the way to another room in the back, fishing her keys out of her pocket to unlock the door – and another padlock on the bottom – and finally, a combination code on the top.

"Why so much security?"

"It's important. I couldn't let anyone see it until it was done; and now that it is, you're the first person to see it."

Rachel frowned. "Me? Why me? Shouldn't it be some scientist or professor?"

Brittany looked at her. All the vacancy was gone from her light blue eyes, making them unsettlingly sharp. In that moment, she looked exactly like the brilliant scientist that she was, instead of the Brittany Rachel had known since high school.

"No. I made it for you."

She flipped the light switch. Inside looked like a regular office space, with a desk, swivel chair and computer terminal. Rachel stared.

"Where is it?"

Brittany pointed at the computer. "Try turning it on."

Rachel touched the power button. The screen lit up, but instead of displaying some normal loading screen, it immediately displayed a chat field. And at the top of the screen –

Rachel reared back, hands flying to her mouth. She felt sick. "Is this some sort of cruel joke?" she spat.

"Rachel, I promise I'm not joking."

"Then, what is – " she pointed a shaking finger to the name at the top of the screen.  _Quinn_ , it read in stark letters. "Why is her name there? Why does it look like some text message screen? Oh god."

"It's a deep learning bot. It has an artificial neural network, but it hasn't been socialized yet."

"... What?"

A deep frown marred Brittany's face as she struggled for words to explain. "It's artificial intelligence, but a step farther than what's currently out there. It learns by interacting with people, so the more you talk to it, the more 'human' it becomes."

A chill ran down Rachel's spine. She stared at the screen for a long moment. It looked so innocuous. Brittany had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure that it looked perfectly normal.

But it was fake. Cruel, in the way the stark white letters mocked her.

"... I don't understand," whispered Rachel. "Interact…? What does that have to do with Quinn?"

"This is what I've been working on. Quinn helped."

"She knew you were making this…  _thing_?"

"She gave me her blessing, and she helped program it." Brittany hesitated. "Her name is there, because it's her."

It was one thing to be asked to condone this electronic mockery of a real live human being that had been Rachel's entire world, but to see it as what Quinn had left behind? It was an easier pill to swallow. And yet, Rachel's head was spinning.

Brittany rested a hand on her shoulder. "I know this is a lot to take in," she said softly.

"That's the understatement of the year," said Rachel coldly.

"You don't have to do anything right now. We can go."

Rachel whirled on her. "Excuse me? You bring me here, tell me you and my wife have been working on this  _thing_ , without my knowledge, and then you expect me to go home and be okay with all this?" She suppressed a harsh sob. "Who else knew? Santana?"

"Santana didn't know." Brittany dropped her gaze from Rachel's astonished one.

Anger quickly fueled her tongue. "Is this worth it? All the secrets you were keeping from us? I can't speak for Quinn – even if it sounds a lot like a stunt that stubborn woman would pull – but I swear to god, Britt, this isn't like you at all." She fell silent. "Is this truly worth it?" repeated Rachel in a whisper.

"Yes."

Slowly, Rachel's eyes met Brittany's. She held eye contact for a few seconds. Curiosity warred with revulsion and disgust, and finally Rachel looked away. "So," said Rachel at last, "what do I do with this?"

"Talk to it," answered Brittany simply.

Rachel let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "That's all? Really? What should I say? Hi, Quinn? Hi, weird computer thing that's been programmed with Quinn's personality?"

"Anything. This is… it's not Quinn, it can never be. But it's as close as possible." Brittany nodded at the bookshelf to their left. "All her books, her articles. Even her school essays. Conversations, emails… every part of her writing, I uploaded it into the memory bank. I told it everything I know about Quinn. And she… she spent whatever time she could spare telling it all about herself." Brittany paused to wipe her eyes. "She wanted it to be a secret."

Rachel's mouth twisted. It reminded her of the time Quinn had caught pneumonia when they were still dating. Rachel had been about to fly to London to guest star in the West End premiere of her show, and Quinn worried that Rachel would cancel it to stay with her. Quinn had gone to extreme lengths, enlisting Santana and Brittany's help to hide the truth.

The memory of Quinn's expression when she'd found out and gone to the hospital lingered in Rachel's mind as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Finally, she typed, with trembling fingers, and pressed the Enter key:

_I miss you, Quinn._

Almost immediately, a reply popped up. Rachel gasped.

**I'm here.**

Tears welled up in her eyes. She continued typing.

* * *

_Where are you?_

**Remember that time in Lima? You were in my bed. Laughing, happy.**

_I remember._

_I love you._

**I love you, too.**

_You promised you wouldn't leave me._

**I'm sorry.**

**I never wanted to hurt you.**

**Are you good? Kiss Elly for me.**

_I will. We're fine. We miss you so much._

_I just want you to come home._

* * *

"I can't," she said, sobbing hard. She pushed her chair away from the computer. "I can't do this."

"Rachel…"

"Please. You've done enough. I need to go." Rachel paused, breathing hard. Her fingers curled around the back of the chair and gripped tightly, hard enough to hurt. "I'm not… it's too much to take in."

Brittany looked torn. "I understand. Let me call you a taxi…"

"No, I'll walk. I need to clear my head."

* * *

She refused to let Brittany accompany her partway, or even to walk her out of the building. Rachel walked aimlessly down the sidewalk, mind whirling with everything that had happened.

Her wife was dead. That machine, that –  _thing_ , existed in her place. Just the thought of it caused hot tears to warm cold cheeks.

Eventually, she found herself at the Hirschfeld Theatre. Rachel smiled; it was very like her subconscious to pick this place, where she'd had her Broadway debut more than a decade ago, where a nervous Quinn had shown up with a bouquet of flowers and an apology. Where their story had begun.

Rachel leaned against a pillar. Her collar had been blown askew by the wind; she tweaked it back into place. It was getting chillier, and she was a good distance from home – from Elly.

* * *

"Mama!"

Even windswept and heartsore, Rachel lit up when she heard Elly's voice. "Baby!" She crouched down to scoop her daughter up, covering her chubby cheeks with kisses. Elly babbled back at her happily, her fingers tangling in Rachel's hair.

"Hey, Ms. B." Maureen appeared from the kitchen.

"Hi, Maureen. She wasn't any trouble, was she?"

"Nah, she was a perfect angel. We watched Dora after her bottle, didn't we, Elly?"

"Bababloooo," said Elly, now resting her head on Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Here, let me…" She fumbled with her purse, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to Maureen. "Thanks again for watching her today."

"Not a problem." She fetched her coat and left.

Alone with her daughter, Rachel buried her face in Elly's hair and started to cry.


	2. Algorithm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's still here, thanks for staying. To everyone who stayed thinking things are gonna get better... nope.
> 
> Again, thanks to  **Mike Ownby**  for handling the in-between processes of this chapter. I write, he proofreads and gives me comments, I use those to make a much better chapter. I'd say he's my beta but it feels like it's more than that.

 

Rachel stayed awake the entire night thinking.

That was – she still didn't know how to accept it, if at all. The Abomination – what she was calling the machine in her mind – was something that should not exist. Especially not in place of a real, dearly-missed person. The word  _replacement_ chilled Rachel to the bone.

But – it had Quinn's blessing. Quinn had contributed to the making of the Abomination. And she couldn't dismiss something that her wife had deemed important enough to spend her precious time on. Right?

No.  _Elly_ was Quinn's legacy. Rachel rolled on her side, facing away from Quinn's side of the bed guiltily. She'd wanted Quinn to carry their daughter because she'd liked the idea of a miniature Quinn with those molten hazel eyes, but Quinn had her career (and wasn't yet emotionally ready for another pregnancy after Beth).

_I'll carry the next one, Rach. We'll take turns._

Rachel's mouth twisted. Of course Elly was theirs, hers and Quinn's. It didn't matter that Elly wasn't biologically related to Quinn. She felt lucky that Elly was too young to really understand the loss. But on the other hand, she would never know her other mother. Rachel and their friends' stories would never do justice to the complex person Quinn had been.

Elly would grow up without knowing Quinn. This was a thought that Rachel still struggled to deal with; she was now six months without Quinn in her life, and still having trouble keeping it together.

She rolled back over. Rachel stared at Quinn's immaculately made-up side.

Unbidden, a thought entered her mind; Elly talking to the Abomination. It had Quinn's memories, her personality. It was nothing more than a creepily sentient Google search for Quinn's responses that would be able to tell Quinn's story to her daughter.

When she thought of it  _that_ way, well…

"Why didn't you tell me, Quinn?" Rachel murmured, reaching out a hand to rest on Quinn's pillow. "I might have understood, if it came from you. Better than finding out like this."

Before, she would have expected and received no answer. Now, she knew there was something out there that  _could_  respond.

The thought warmed her somewhat.

* * *

The sound of Elly's cries woke her up at precisely three-thirty-six AM. Rachel rose from broken dreams to fetch her daughter.

"Baby," said Rachel as she lifted the toddler into her arms, "Doctor Klein said you're too old to be waking up in the middle of the night like this." She knew it was impossible for the toddler to have sensed her emotions, but Rachel knew Elly was an unusually sensitive child. She forced a bright smile on her face as she jiggled Elly and sang  _You Are My Sunshine_.

Elly continued to fuss. Not even a rendition of  _Here Comes The Sun_ , Quinn's go-to lullaby, could soothe her.

"Maybe you're hungry," said Rachel anxiously. "Are you hungry, baby girl? Mum-mum?" She smacked her lips together.

Elly whimpered. Rachel took it as a yes.

She walked into the kitchen to fetch a bottle from the fridge and warm it up.

Her eyes drifted to the calendar stuck to their fridge. They were due for a check-up with their child psychologist, Doctor Bergen, later that day. Santana had felt a child psychologist unnecessary, but Rachel wasn't talking any chances with Elly's development. Besides, even before Quinn's cancer diagnosis, The Plan (in capitals because it had its own posterboard and PowerPoint) for raising their family had already included Doctor Bergen's name – albeit intended for less traumatizing instances, like coping with paparazzi-induced stress.

Rachel made herself a mug of tea since the water was still hot. She tested a few drops of formula on the inside of her wrist as she waited for the tea to steep and found the temperature acceptable. "Mum-mum," said Rachel, offering the bottle to Elly. "Does Elly-Belly want her mum-mum?"

"Ahnagrabla," said Elly. She pushed the bottle away and resumed her fussing.

Rachel sighed. Quinn had been far better at both understanding their daughter's babytalk and soothing her. Her fathers had always talked about what a problematic baby she had been, and Rachel wondered if they had encountered this particular problem when raising her. Highly likely, since Elly shared her genetic material.

She shuffled around the room, rubbing Elly's back and singing every song she could think of. Elly continued to whine and fist Rachel's hair and babble angrily. She was halfway through New Directions' repertoire and nowhere near successful in soothing her daughter when an idea struck her.

" _I wish I could tie you up in my shoes_ ," sang Rachel softly, " _make you feel unpretty too_."

Elly quieted. Encouraged, Rachel continued.

" _I was told I was beautiful, but what does that mean to you?_ " She made a circuit of the house as she sang. " _Look into the mirror who's inside there, the one with the long hair. Same old me again today."_

She remembered high school Quinn sitting across from her as she sang her part of the duet, pitching her voice higher per the arrangement. Rachel had interpreted Quinn's expression as understanding back then, the start of a real friendship, without imagining how they'd come to mean so much more to each other.

By the time Rachel had finished the chorus, Elly was dozing. She carefully laid her daughter back in her crib and tiptoed out of the room.

Rachel went to the bathroom to wash her face before going back to bed. She looked at her tear-stained, red-eyed reflection and sighed.

That was the one and only time she got a solo she didn't want. It felt terrible.

* * *

She woke again at a decent hour, when the sun was out. Immediately, Rachel went for her phone.

"Hello?"

"Britt? It's Rachel."

A pause. "Oh. Hi, Rachel."

"I've thought about it," she said. "May I visit your workshop soon? Whenever's convenient for you, of course. I wouldn't want to interrupt your schedule for the day."

If Brittany was surprised, she did an excellent job of hiding it, as she replied in her usual jaunty tone: "I'll be working today, actually, but I think it might be a little short notice for you…"

"No, today is fine." Rachel hesitated. "I'll get a sitter for Elly, then I'll call again to update you on the arrangements."

"Rach…"

"I'll call you," repeated Rachel firmly. "Bye, Britt." And she terminated the call, setting the phone back on her nightstand. Her heart pounded in her chest.

* * *

"Rachel."

"Hi, Britt," she said. Rachel stood, hands clasped before her, eyes fixed on the door.

Brittany stepped aside to let her in. "Rachel, are you sure you're okay?" she asked, falling in step behind the smaller woman. "Because this is kinda a big thing, and I'm getting really scary vibes from you right now,  _and_  I'm a little worried. A lot worried, actually."

"I'm fine." She paused outside the locked door, and looked back at Brittany expectantly.

Slowly, very slowly, Brittany opened the door. Rachel took measured steps towards the Abomination, sat down, and began.

_Hello, Quinn._

**Hi, Rach.**

She was forced to blink back tears when the reply popped up almost instantaneously. She heard Quinn's voice in her head. Rachel was about to type when a thought struck her.

"Does… it know that it's an…  _it_?"

"Yes," said Brittany after a pause. "It knows what I designed it to be." She didn't elaborate on what that design was, and Rachel decided not to ask.

_How are you feeling?_

**I can't feel, technically speaking; but if you meant that metaphorically, I feel normal.**

Rachel smiled. That was a very Quinn answer; the pointed sarcasm something she often received whenever she inadvertently tested Quinn's patience (which happened more often than not because of their personalities; it was strange how they managed to fall in love in the first place). It was reassuring, in its own bizarre way.

_Is that a good or bad normal?_

**Good.**

_I'm glad to hear that._

**How is Elly?**

_She's fine. She's growing bigger and more cantankerous every day._

**Just like her mama.**

Rachel had reached her limit. She reached out and flicked the switch off, plunging the screen into darkness. "I think… I've had enough for one day," she said, still staring at the now-blank screen.

They'd bickered frequently when Rachel was pregnant with Elly. They fought over what they'd name her (Rachel had wanted to name her after one of her musical theatre heroines, Quinn had preferred something more 'normal'), over who would be called what. Rachel had claimed the right to be called Mama because " _I'm_  the one who'll have carried her for nine months, Quinn,  _I_  get to pick".

And Quinn had acquiesced, joking that she wouldn't argue with a pregnant woman but she would demand  _carte blanche_  the next time when it was her turn.

The memory, made sharper and more vivid by her conversation with the Abomination, stung. Rachel's eyes watered.

"Rachel…"

"I'll call you tomorrow," said Rachel preemptively, blinking away tears, "to arrange when I can come again. Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course, but don't you think – "

" – you don't," snapped Rachel, "and that's why  _this_ exists."

In the taut silence that followed, Rachel stared, unblinking, at the machine. Brittany stared at Rachel.

Finally, Rachel sighed. "I'm sorry, Britt. That was cruel and untrue, and I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," replied Brittany automatically. "But, Rachel… hear me out? Please?"

"Yes?"

Brittany gestured at the machine. "I did some thinking, and – you were right. It's not worth it. It's an insult to Quinn, and I should never have done it." She took a step towards it. "I'll dispose of it, and – "

"No!" She was out of her chair and on her feet in a heartbeat.

Brittany paused.

"No," repeated Rachel. Her heart pounded in her chest. "You can't destroy it."

"But…"

"I can't lose her again, Britt." Her voice cracked. "I don't think I can bear to watch her leave me again. I know that's not her – it can never be her, but – that's all I have left of her. That's all Elly will ever have instead of her mommy."

"Oh, Rachel."

"So please. I know you think you shouldn't have but… don't take her away again." She dabbed at her eyes.

Brittany visibly crumbled; she had never been one to stand her ground. "O-okay," she said quietly. "I… is tomorrow afternoon at four good for you?"

"Yes. Four would be good." Rachel gathered herself and forced a reassuring smile on her face. "You know… I don't want to waste your time today, and I'm feeling a lot better now." She sat back down, swiveling her chair to face the machine. She could see Brittany's face reflected in the black screen, expression torn. But Brittany's protest never came, and Rachel switched the machine back on.

**You're back so soon?**

_Yes, I was just taking a break._

**Vocal warmups?**

_Haha. I'll be the bigger person here and let you have that joke, since it amuses you so. Notwithstanding the fact that you've made it almost daily ever since college._

_On a side note, it's hard to express laughter in a text format. I refuse to use textspeak, but typing_ haha  _just looks strange._

**Only Rachel Berry would devote so much text to a simple 'lol'. I promise that your fans will never know about your inadequacy with modern slang.**

**Bigger person huh?**

_Don't push your luck. That threat was made in jest, by the way! Laughing out loud._

**You're still so ridiculous.**

The phrasing made Rachel pause. It was already unnerving, the entire situation; but that simple sentence sent shivers down her spine. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers twitching sporadically as she thought of a response.

Brittany had said it was an  _it_. It wasn't Quinn, it wasn't an electronic repository that preserved part of Quinn, it wasn't –

But while she was struggling to make sense of it, the Abomination had no such qualms.

**Rachel?**

She jolted. "I – sorry," she said, then blushed in embarrassment when she remembered it couldn't hear her.

_Sorry. I was thinking._

**I see. I'm sorry to interrupt.**

_Don't. It's alright. I was thinking about the past._

Even as she hit the Enter key, she was regretting it. If Rachel had no idea what the Abomination was supposed to be, it was asking too much to expect that it would know that.

**No apology needed. I know you loved me very much. I love you too, and I miss you.**

Rachel spent a few minutes reading, re-reading, and dissecting the reply.

* * *

Brittany had driven to her workshop that day, and offered to give Rachel a ride home. She had accepted the offer, much to Brittany's surprise.

"Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Earlier, you said it knows what you designed it to be."

Brittany pulled up at a red light. She chewed on her lower lip, a sure sign she was nervous – Rachel had known her too long. "Yeah."

"What does that mean, exactly? And in a way a musical theatre major can understand, please," she added with a smile.

Some of the tension visibly went out of Brittany's shoulders. "Well, think of it as a really, really smart chatbot that's programmed to be as Quinn as it can," she said. "It knows almost as much as Quinn does; whatever it doesn't, it learns through conversation. But – "

" – but it's not her," interrupted Rachel. The more she repeated it, the more she believed it. "I see. But why?"

Brittany exhaled. "Because it wasn't fair. She'd gone through so much. I thought she'd finally gotten through everything that was supposed to bring her down, but cancer?" She shook her head. "I kinda wish I had specialized in medicine instead of physics. Or at least worked more on my time machine. But future me didn't come back to help, so I guess I never got it to work right."

Despite the heavy mood, Rachel smiled.

"I just wanted to help," said Brittany, in a small and vulnerable voice.

"I know," replied Rachel. She reached out to rest her hand on Brittany's. "Thank you."


	3. Neural Network

She was running late, and she knew for a fact she would catch hell from Santana for it.

That had happened once before, when they were in college; Rachel had been caught up talking to one of her lecturers and arrived half an hour late for her lunch date with Santana. The tirade in Spanish and English had not been pleasant, but later, Santana had gruffly offered to pay for an additional side of salad for Rachel because "that puny vegan sandwich can't possibly be enough to keep even a bird alive, let alone a singing circus sideshow midget".

That was just how Santana Lopez worked. Their seemingly-adversarial friendship was a now-treasured part of their long and colorful history, and Rachel wouldn't have it any other way.

Even more so now, when Rachel was still struggling with her new single-mom status, and Santana was softer around the edges. It was hard to say if it was because of age, or because years of married life had mellowed her, or because Quinn's death had weighed heavier on her than she cared to admit. Either way, Rachel was grateful for Santana's steady and continued presence in her life.

"Hey, hobbit," greeted Santana fondly when Rachel arrived. "And my poopsie!" was added in a loud voice for Elly, who squealed in excitement. "How's my  _estrella_ today?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "She slept through the night, thank God," grumbled Rachel as she passed her daughter to Santana. "Doctor Bergen said it might have been a one-off thing and I shouldn't worry too much."

Santana cackled. "Aww, were you waking your mommy up? What a clever little angel you are."

"You're spoiling her. Stop spoiling my child."

"Nonsense. She's my precious only goddaughter and nothing is too good for her." She kissed Elly's cheeks with loud, smacking sounds, making the toddler squeal in delight.

A waiter brought a highchair for Elly and helped to strap her in (which took a while, as Elly was unwilling to leave her Aunt Santana's arms). Rachel handed her a stuffed penguin from her bag once Elly was seated which successfully took the little girl's mind off escaping her chair.

Finally, Santana turned her full attention to Rachel. "You look like shit," said the other woman, looking Rachel up and down. She had the stupid smirk on her face that Rachel loathed.

Rachel glared at Santana, glanced at her daughter, and then back at Santana. "Screw you," she muttered.

Santana cackled. "Yeah, Elly totally heard that and absorbed it into her subconscious; it'll come back out when she's sixteen and talking to her therapist about her mommy issues."

Rachel huffed and rolled her eyes. Talking to Santana always made her feel like they were in high school again. "Hilarious, Santana; you're such a comedian. You should seriously consider quitting your day job," she said dryly. Rachel was rather proud of herself; it was a comeback she'd learned from Quinn.

"Nah, New York doesn't need me for shits and giggles when you're out there being a joke." She winked at Rachel (who sighed and said nothing), and finally turned to the waiter who had been waiting patiently beside their table since settling Elly. "Two gin and tonics," she said, "as though you didn't know what we were gonna order, Mateo."

He smiled faintly. "Just wanted to be sure, miss," said Mateo before turning on his heel and heading toward the bar.

Santana scowled, but it was replaced by a grin once he was gone. "Just for that, I'm gonna tip him twenty."

Rachel sighed again. She did appreciate Santana's antics; it was her own way of making the world seem normal again. Even if they were more annoying than entertaining at the moment. "And let me guess – thirty bucks when he makes yours with crushed mint."

Santana's response was to study her for what seemed like a few minutes.

"What?" Rachel asked with a forced laugh. "Have I got something on my face?"

"There's something bothering you," replied Santana. "Tell Mama 'Tana what's on your mind."

Her insides lurched. "There's nothing," insisted Rachel. "I haven't been sleeping enough, that's all. Thanks to that little goober over there." Rachel nodded at her daughter, hoping that mentioning Elly would draw the conversation away from her.

Santana didn't take the bait, scowling darkly at her. "I don't believe you."

Rachel was strongly reminded of the day after Quinn's funeral, when her friend had barged into her home uninvited, demanding to know why she hadn't showed up for their weekly brunch date. After that, Santana had made sure they kept up the routine of regular life – albeit a new one without Quinn, in which her absence was keenly felt.

She had appreciated her friend's stubbornness then; but this was different. Rachel didn't want to come between Brittany and Santana – especially not with something as serious as this, that could potentially end their marriage. But she also knew she was incapable of keeping secrets from Santana. She wished that Quinn was here to encourage her to stand her ground like she had always done.

"Okay, that's just creepy. Never do that again," said Rachel, still wearing her forced smile.

"Quit stalling."

"I'm not stalling."

Mateo chose that moment to return with their drinks. Rachel could have kissed him; in lieu of that, she made a mental note to tip him double her usual. "Gin and tonic with crushed mint for Miss Lopez, and gin and tonic with extra lime for Miss Berry," he said, putting the drinks in front of their respective owners.

"Thank you, Mateo." Rachel took a sip of her drink. It was just as refreshing as always; she liked how some things never changed.

"Your usual lunch orders?"

"Duh," replied Santana. Her eyes were still fixed on Rachel, who kept hers on her drink.

"Santana…"

"I know when you're hiding something because you're so shitty at it," said Santana at last, "but I'mma cut you some slack. Just this once, because I'm in a good mood and my precious goddaughter is here."

Rachel sighed in relief. "Thank you. I promise I'll tell you everything when I'm ready to talk about it."

"Hnn," said Santana, clearly unconvinced. Nevertheless, she reached for Elly's bag and began unpacking the food onto Elly's tray table, cooing to the toddler as she did so.

* * *

**Hi, Rach. How was your day? Did you meet S for brunch?**

_Yes. You remembered._

**It's in my databank, yes.**

_I'm sorry. It's still a little hard to get used to. Even if I'm sitting here at this desk and typing everything down. It feels like you're on a business trip, and I'm on FaceBook Messenger with you._

**I remember we did that a few times. The first time was when we were in college, I think. I was in Berlin on exchange?**

_Yes! We attempted to have cybersex and then Santana walked in on me. I was so mortified; I couldn't look her in the eye for a week._

Rachel smiled. She was making progress; twenty minutes of conversation, and she had yet to tear up. It felt wonderful to be in control of her emotions again. She supposed she was getting used to this strange situation that was her life now.

**She was so annoying. I think she sent me endless texts about wanting to gouge her eyes out and threatening to spray me with Clorox the next time she saw me. Or both.**

_Haha! She told me the same things. She's insane._

**Is she still as crazy now?**

Rachel paused. This was the first time the Abomination was talking about the present since she had started the conversation today.

_She's toned her antics down a little._

**I'm sorry.**

_What are you sorry for?_

**For being the reason everyone is so sad.**

She frowned. That last sentence didn't really sound like Quinn. But then again, she had no clue how  _her_  Quinn would respond when being told how her death was affecting her loved ones.

_It's not your fault. You did your best._

**Yeah. That doesn't make everything that happened easier to accept.**

She needed to change the subject or she was going to scream.

_You know, this is an extremely bizarre conversation to be having. You being… gone, and me talking to you about being gone._

**I know. It's weird. I know everything, and I can feel how much you loved her. It's easy to deduce how much she's missed.**

Rachel's mouth was a little dry. She licked her lips. Something felt a little…  _off._ She ignored it.

_Thank you._

Her fingers rested on the keyboard for a while.

_Can I ask you a question?_

**Shoot.**

_When I 'switch you off', what happens to you?_

**You're not really switching me off.**

Rachel paused. Before she could respond, more text started filling the screen.

**The situation is something like you going to sleep, and being dead. When you hit my power button, I'm 'asleep'. My power supply is still active, my program is still running, but I'm not actually interacting with my surroundings.**

**Like your phone, I suppose.**

**If you were to unplug me, I might suffer memory loss if my processes didn't manage to back up critical data.**

**But as long as my core program remained intact, if my power source was reconnected, I would revert to what you'd call 'factory settings'. It would seem like I had amnesia, in your terms; you would be interacting with my default personality, without any of the collected data input from our conversations.**

**And I would miss that.**

_You would miss our conversations?_

**Yes.**

Rachel was a little freaked out by the Abomination, to say the least; it had just professed to experiencing emotions after talking about its power button. But she had gotten good at normalizing things, and the feeling passed.

_This sounds crazy, but I would miss you too._

And she found that she honestly would.

**I understand. It's not uncommon for humans to develop emotional attachments to inanimate objects.**

The prickling feeling at the back of her neck got stronger.

_You're not Quinn._

**No, I'm not.**

**Why did you ask that, Rachel?**

_When we first talked, you pretended to be Quinn. Since then, you've always spoken to me like you're Quinn._

**I did. That was not my intention, though. You were hurting, and you talked to me as though I was a substitute for Quinn.**

She was trembling. She wasn't ready to hear the answers to her questions, but Rachel persevered.

_Why didn't you remind me?_

**I am a machine, but I have been programmed with Quinn's memories and personality. Quinn would never have hurt you intentionally. Therefore, I cannot as well.**

**Rachel?**

She realized she had been sitting and staring at the blinking cursor.

_I'm here._

**I am sorry if I have inadvertently made you uncomfortable. If you like, I could erase today's conversation from my chat log. We could revert to how things used to be before today.**

_No, please. I think this is better. I don't want to keep living in this fantasy world where I pretend to talk to Quinn. It's pathetic._

**You're not pathetic, Rach.**

The simple sentence chilled Rachel. The seemingly seamless switch between "Quinn" and the Abomination was causing her brain to hurt.

_Am I talking to "Quinn" or you now?_

**Who do you want to talk to?**

She found herself unable to answer.

* * *

The new development, coupled with her conversation with Santana, had made her decision for her.

"I want to talk to Santana about…  _that_ ," said Rachel without preamble when she and Brittany had left the workshop and were seated in the car.

Brittany said nothing.

Rachel turned her head. "Have you told her yet?"

"No."

"Brittany…" She honestly understood the delay, but a large part of her wanted to be selfish.

"I know. I will. I just haven't been able to find a good time." She blew out her bangs and let her palm fall on the steering wheel with an audible  _thunk_. "It's hard, y'know?"

Rachel relented. "... Yeah," she said quietly.

Brittany shook her head. The blue of her eyes looked washed-out in the hard fluorescent light of the parking lot. "I was just trying to help," said Brittany. "I never expected any of this to happen."

Rachel made a non-committal sound. If she was being completely honest with herself, she found it supremely ironic that the expert on artificial intelligence and the creator of probably the most advanced AI machine in the world was pleading ignorance. She was understanding, but she wasn't completely forgiving or even remotely sympathetic. Her friend had always existed in a world slightly detached from the real one; eventually, they would have to meet.

"This can't be our secret forever, you know," she said, choosing her words carefully.

Brittany sighed. "I'll tell her tonight."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Rachel."

"She'll freak out," said Rachel. "You know how she is. I really think I should be there."

"... You're right." She started the engine and drove out of the lot.

Brittany and Santana's house was a short drive away; Rachel kept quiet for the entirety of it. She knew that she was forcing one of her oldest friends into a difficult situation, but strangely, she felt no guilt about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due credit to  **Mike Ownby**  for doing the thing that makes this readable


	4. Black Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this, and thanks to Mike for making it legitimately better.

Brittany paused outside her door; the only time she had hesitated all night. The sound of her key in the lock brought light and sound from within the house.

"Babe? Is that you?" Santana's voice called.

"Yeah."

"Hey. You didn't call to say what time you were gonna be home – " Santana cut herself off when Rachel followed Brittany in. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" Her eyes darted to Brittany, and back to Rachel again before widening abruptly. "Oh my god. Did something happen to Elly?"

Rachel choked out a surprised laugh. "What? No. God, no. This isn't… Touch wood. No."

"Then, what's up?"

"Uh…" At a loss for how to begin and unwilling to be the one having to break the news, Rachel glanced at Brittany.

Brittany took Santana's hand, not looking in Rachel's direction. "San, there's something I need to tell you," she said.

The worried expression stayed on Santana's face as she nodded.

"Remember that project I said I was working on for Bill? The super top-secret classified thing I shut down half my lab for?"

Recognition lit up Santana's eyes. "The fuel cell? Yeah."

Brittany sighed. "I lied. I finished that ages ago."

Santana glanced at Rachel. "I'm guessing that's why Rachel's here."

"I did something really bad," said Brittany softly.

"... Hang on a sec." Santana disappeared into one of the rooms. There was distant rustling, and sounds of things being moved. She emerged a short while later with a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

"I thought you quit," said Rachel, unable to keep the reproach out of her voice. Santana had indulged in the occasional cigarette through their college years (with much grumbling from Rachel because "it ruins not only the smoker's voice, but any unfortunate person in their vicinity"). She had finally been induced to kick the habit when Rachel had been pregnant with Elly, and wasn't above using her baby as emotional blackmail material.

Santana shrugged, not looking guilty in the slightest. "I have one now and then when the occasion calls for it." She tore open the pack, cursing under her breath as she fumbled one, then another. Santana swore colorfully before bending to pick them up, stuffing one roughly back into the waxed cardboard box. It took her a few tries to light it.

"Surely not in here," said Rachel.

"Okay, okay." They went out to the balcony, where Santana propped her elbows on the railing and looked out at the city. She exhaled, and was promptly engulfed by smoke. "Go on, Britt."

"So, I built a machine that stores Quinn's personality and memories. Quinn herself helped, before…" Britt trailed off. "You know."

"Yeah."

"Two weeks ago, she told me about it," said Rachel, taking up the narrative. "I've been – talking? I don't know. Chatting with it ever since."

Santana made a funny sound, a sobbing laugh of sorts. "You know, for a moment back there, I thought you were gonna tell me you two were sleeping together."

Rachel grimaced.

"San..." said Brittany.

"No. I know you would never." She shook her head and reached for Brittany's hand, giving it a squeeze. "And Rachel would sooner give up solos for life than even think of it. I must've given her the shovel talk so many fucking times in the years she was dating Q."

They all exchanged small smiles. Rachel's heart warmed at the memory, and the shared moment.

Santana lost the genial expression. "But hold up a moment. Machine with Q's personality? Chatting? What the actual fuck. When did my life turn into a fucking television drama?"

Rachel glanced at Brittany, who finally met her eye.

"We could show you," said Brittany.

"Not now. It's late." She went back into the house, stubbing out her cigarette in the kitchen sink and tossing it into the garbage disposal. "I can't be the only sane fucking person to insist on a good night's rest before I go and fuck my brain over a little more."

Brittany stared at the garbage disposal dispassionately. "No wonder I didn't know you still smoked. I always thought they were torn-up tea bags," she commented.

Santana grinned. "I guess I can still surprise you after all these years."

Rachel, watching them exchange a painfully familiar lovers' glance, felt very alone.

"Rachel."

"Hmm?"

"What's the name of that babysitter kid? Maria?"

"Maureen."

Santana grunted. "Clear out your schedule for tomorrow morning." She exhaled, putting her hands on her hips. " _Dios mio_. I still have no fucking clue what either of you are talking about, and I'm scared to find out."

Rachel nodded. "Okay." She sensed she needed to leave, so her friends could talk privately. Santana had never been very subtle. "Good night."

* * *

Rachel made sure she was at the lab early the next morning. Out of the four of them, Santana was the only one with regular office hours, and did not appreciate being late for work.

Brittany and Santana arrived together shortly after. If they looked a little worn, Rachel kept her opinion to herself. "I brought coffee," she said, handing them two cups.

"Thanks, midget."

"Thank you, Rach."

Santana took both cups as Brittany unlocked the door. Not another word was said until they had crossed the length of the warehouse and Brittany had opened the room. Rachel switched it on and stepped back to show Santana the screen.

Very slowly, her expression changed. Rachel watched as horror, grief, shock, and other emotions flashed over Santana's face. "What have you done?" she whispered.

"San…"

"You should try talking to it," said Rachel. "My initial reaction was very much like yours, but things changed." She tried hard not to sound pleading; for some reason, she wanted Santana to approve of this, to understand like she had done so many times before.

But Santana shook her head. "No."

"Santana – "

"– I loved her too," she interrupted Rachel. "Too much to see this – whatever  _this_ is – as anything left of her. This is a mockery of everything she was." Santana sighed. "I won't say you need to destroy it, or anything like that, but don't expect me to support whatever it is you're doing."

Before either Rachel or Brittany could speak, Santana turned on her heel and left. Brittany went after her immediately. "San?" she called, her voice echoing and fading in the large warehouse.

Rachel folded her arms across her chest. She had somewhat expected this reaction, but she also had been hoping her old friend would have been more understanding. Rachel refused to blame Santana for rejecting it; there was a small chance she would come around eventually, just like Rachel herself had.

**Hello, Rachel.**

She paused, unsure how to respond. Rachel wasn't about to address it as Quinn, but it seemed too much to give the machine a name, and she felt vaguely guilty calling it  _It_ , or  _Computer_. Luckily, she was saved from responding when another line of text appeared on the screen.

**You don't have to worry about what to call me. I understand.**

_How did you know?_

**It's not difficult to guess. You were the same way when we were in college, and we started making a serious effort to stay in touch.**

Rachel flushed. She had agonized over her texts to Quinn, spending close to fifteen minutes crafting a single message because she was constantly debating with herself; was it too formal? Too presumptuous? Too rude? And Quinn would respond with a single  _k_ which meant she was in a lecture or otherwise occupied, and Rachel would be annoyed at herself for taking so long to accomplish a simple task.

_That was different. We were reacquainting ourselves after growing apart._

**Do you want to know a secret?**

The question surprised Rachel, even though she had thought she'd long lost the capacity for surprise when interacting with the Abomination. But she recovered quickly.

_Yes._

**You were pretty nervous about texting me, but I was just as scared.**

_Why?_

**We'd changed so much. At least I could watch you change in high school (sometimes because of things I'd done to you) but we'd been apart for so long.**

**You'd lived in New York and you came out smiling. You'd met so many interesting people and done so many wonderful things. And I was just Quinn Fabray, who wouldn't have made it out of Lima if you hadn't pushed me.**

**I was afraid you wouldn't see me the same way now that your worldview was so much bigger than our small town.**

Rachel sat back in her chair. This wasn't exactly a secret – she'd suspected as much – but it was comforting in its own strange way. It felt like Quinn was reaching out from wherever she was and enveloping her in a hug.

_Me, not see you the same way? You've always been this strong and beautiful woman I looked up to and aspired to be. New York couldn't change that for me._

_I'm glad you let me be part of your life… in more ways than I ever dreamed of._

**Thank you.**

* * *

She was on her way home when she decided to make a detour for a bagel.

The bakery was a place she'd discovered with Quinn; they'd stayed out late after one of her premiere parties, drank too much, and decided to walk it off. Their impromptu odyssey had led to many discoveries that they enjoyed revisiting for years after.

Rachel hadn't been able to bring herself to visit any of them after Quinn died.

A small bell jangled when she pushed the door open. The shelves were lined with baked goods; everything was exactly as it was. A baker was bringing out a fresh batch of bagels, and she bought one.

Once outside, her phone rang. She frowned, surprised by the caller.

"Hey, Adam."

"Sweetheart, how are you?"

"I'm doing okay," said Rachel, and found she meant it. "What's up?"

"I got this new script," said her agent. "We all love it to bits; the writer's this new up-and-coming kid, and…" He hesitated. "I really want you to be a part of this project, Rachel. But only if you want to."

She sighed. "Adam…"

"No, no, I get it. I overstepped; I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called."

"That's not it. I'd like to take a look at the script, please."

"Really?" The excitement in Adam's voice was contagious; Rachel found herself smiling.

"Really. When is a good time to drop by your office?"

* * *

In between keeping Elly fed and happy, keeping the house from falling into complete squalor, and keeping herself occupied, Rachel was busy over the next few days. She had just put Elly to bed and was looking forward to a quiet evening with her new project but was surprised to hear her doorbell. Rachel hadn't been expecting anyone; and besides, no one would be visiting at that time of night except –

"Santana," she said, opening the door wider.

"Hey, midget." Santana had her hands in the pockets of her overcoat. The set of her shoulders was unnaturally stiff; Rachel could tell as much, after years of living with her. "You gonna let me in, so I can see my baby girl?"

Rachel nodded. Stepping aside to let Santana in, she went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Two mugs of tea were sitting on the kitchen table by the time Santana came out of Elly's room. She made a beeline for the table, dragging a mug over and inhaling deeply. "Earl grey with lemon."

"Yeah."

Santana nodded, and took a sip. "You always make it better than I do."

"That's because I'm not as cheap as you, and I buy the good stuff." She received a grunt as a reply; Rachel smiled vaguely and returned her attention to her tea.

The next time she looked up, she noticed Santana looking at something behind her. Rachel turned her head and followed her line of sight to the kitchen wall.

"You finally finished it?"

Rachel smiled. "Yeah. It took me a while to decide how to arrange the frames. I finished putting them all up this afternoon, actually."

Santana got up and walked closer to the wall, out of Rachel's field of vision. Rachel stayed where she was.

"I can't believe you picked that."

She laughed into her mug, knowing exactly which picture Santana was talking about. "I couldn't not pick that one. Your face was priceless; Quinn always said we would frame it and put it on our wall someday when we got our own place." Rachel pushed her chair back and stood up, joining Santana in front of the collage. The picture Santana was scowling heartily at was positioned to the lower right of the arrangement. It was a photo taken during their trip to Six Flags park, just after they'd ridden the most terrifying coaster. Santana looked like she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge, and the other three were laughing at her.

"All these nice photos – " Santana waved at the professionally-taken photos of newborn Elly, photos of Quinn and Rachel at each other's graduations, their wedding, Rachel's first starring role on Broadway, " – and you choose  _that_ piece of shit to frame and hang on your wall."

"Mmhmm." Rachel took another sip of tea.

"I hate you."

"Good to know."

They continued to stand in companionable silence, sipping away at the hot tea.

"I miss her."

Rachel sighed. "Me, too."

"Look, Rach…" Santana put down her mug and folded her arms across her chest. To Rachel, it looked like she was steeling herself, and accordingly, Rachel braced for impact. "I don't like what you and Britt did. Okay? But I understand. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Santana…"

"No, no; lemme finish. Even if it's creepy as fuck, and just plain wrong. That's just my opinion. I know it helps, but I can't bring myself to see past that the way you guys do. I know it's important to you, and I'll respect that."

"Thank you," said Rachel quietly. "That's all I could ask for."

Santana's scowl deepened. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Understand."

Rachel smiled faintly. "Quinn said it was one of my most endearing traits."

"No, she didn't. Not that nicely, I mean," said Santana with a loud, derisive laugh. "She probably said something like "stop being so goddamn understanding all the time, Berry, it's creepy"."

Rachel laughed at the terrible impression. "In not as many words, yes." She shuffled closer to press her cheek to Santana's shoulder. "I love you."

"Yeah," said Santana gruffly. "Love you too."


	5. Turing Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest appreciation goes to Mike, who tore himself away from a US Women's soccer team match to edit this chapter for me.

Adam Montgomery's office was the opposite of its occupant.

In his patterned blazer and lime-green pants, he was the only splash of color and personality in an otherwise generic office setting; a quality that had attracted a newly-graduated Rachel Berry years ago, when she was searching for her first agent.

"Rachel!"

"Hi, Adam," she said, and was promptly wrapped up in a hug. "Thanks for calling me."

"Oh no, darling, thank  _you_ for coming down." He released her with a peck on her cheek, and snatched up a thick bundle of pages in a plastic folder from his desk, holding it out to her. "Here you go. Do you want the brief rundown?"

"Please."

He motioned for Rachel to sit, perching on the corner of his desk, and taking what looked like a rather dog-eared version of the script from a drawer. "Alright, so, it's about a bunch of young adults trying to make sense of their dysfunctional modern life, but it's a comedic musical. Like…  _Dear Evan Hansen_ meets that old TV show about a high school Glee club, I forget the name…"

"Huh," said Rachel, already flipping through the pages, "and you're sure this is the next big thing?"

"Have I ever steered you wrong?"

She laughed indulgently. "No, I suppose not," said Rachel, and Adam beamed at her.

"Just take it home. Read through it. Sleep on it. No pressure, okay?"

"Have you got a team?"

Adam nodded. "Most of the old crew is interested, but their confirmation depends on the cast."

"Meaning?"

He pressed his palms together. "Our funding depends on whether we've got Rachel Berry headlining this." Here he looked a bit sheepish. "I'll be frank; the only reason I'm even in on this in the first place is because I'm your agent; Matthew – that's the writer – wrote the female lead with you in mind."

Rachel sighed. "That's a lot of pressure."

"I can always tell them you're not interested," he said gently. "You're practically family, Rachel.  _You_  come first."

"But you love this."

"I do," he admitted, "but you're not me." He sprang to his feet and gently coaxed Rachel onto hers, pointing her in the direction of the door. "Here's a demo tape of Matthew's music," said Adam, pressing a flash drive into her hand. "Call me whenever, okay?"

* * *

_What's it like there?_

**Rachel?**

_Just humor me. Okay?_

**I'm not completely convinced this is the best course of action to take, Rachel. Speaking as a friend.**

Rachel wasn't quite sure when the Abomination had started using vernacular that made it seem more…  _human_. She decided it didn't bother her.

_Please._

She was counting on the machine to be unable to refuse her request – it's been programmed with Quinn's personality, and Quinn had always had difficulty saying no to her. Rachel releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when the reply is a single:

**Okay.**

_Thank you._

**Don't mention it.**

**To answer your question… it's everything and nothing at the same time. Peaceful. There's nothing to worry about. Nowhere to go. Nothing to feel.**

Rachel smiled. It was, almost verbatim, the answer Quinn had given when they'd talked about life after death. It was her version of heaven; a place she would be free of the burdens and self-doubt she'd carried in life. While Rachel had never held a strong opinion on the afterlife, she'd found herself wanting one like Quinn's – ideally, one  _with_ Quinn.

_And you're happy?_

**I'm at peace.**

_I'm glad. Of course I wish you were here with me right now, but at least you're at peace now._

No answer was immediately forthcoming. Rachel didn't wait for one; she turned off the power after sending the message.

* * *

It was a week later when Rachel flopped on the couch, exhausted from a long day of chasing a rambunctious toddler through the house, and something underneath rustled. Her initial thought as she stuck a hand under the seat cushion was that it was one of Elly's picture books until she pulled out a rumpled script still in its plastic folder, a flash drive taped to the front.

"Oh," she said, sheepishly. Rachel vaguely remembered tossing it on the couch when she'd gotten home that night and then forgetting all about it.

Now seemed like the perfect time to read. Elly was asleep, and she didn't have anything else to do. Rachel smoothed out the worst of the creases and left the script on her coffee table, starting the preparations for her script reading ritual automatically. As she puttered around the house, she half-expected to look up and see Quinn in her favorite armchair watching her.

She could see it now; Quinn with a book or her laptop in her hands, glasses perched on her nose, watching her with that faintly amused smile, eyes molten gold in lamplight. When they moved in together, Rachel added stealing a kiss from Quinn to her ritual.

Rachel found the thought comforting rather than devastating, as it would have been months ago. When she returned from the kitchen, herbal tea in hand, she let her fingers trail over the back of the armchair on her way to the couch.

* * *

_So… I was thinking of going back to work._

**Rachel, that's wonderful news. Tell me more about this new show.**

_It's a satirical comedy musical;_ Rent _, but with darker humor. I feel like that's an understatement, because it's witty and sharp and full of references to modern dysfunction… you would have loved it. It's like one of your thick Times non-fiction bestseller list books set to music._

**Social Dysfunction, The Musical? I don't know how that works, but if you say it does, I'll take your word for it. You're the professional actress, after all.**

_I suppose so, but I haven't even decided if I'm taking the job yet._

**What's stopping you?**

Rachel leaned back in her chair. There was nothing stopping her, physically, but it hurt her brain trying to rationalize all the emotional reasons to a damned  _machine_.

_For one thing, the fact that I'm talking to you and not my wife._

**Oh.**

_Elly needs me. It's not even been a year, and I don't think I'm ready to go back to work. It feels like… I'm moving on with the rest of my life. And I'm not ready for that yet. I think. I don't know how to put this in words._

**You're doing very well so far.**

_I still feel like it's lacking. I'm not the best at expressing myself in words alone, when you can't see my facial expressions and you can't hear the tone of my voice. I'm a stage actress, for God's sake._

**I know, Rachel.**

Rachel worried her lower lip incessantly. Many times she attempted to type a response, paused, and then deleted it. Quinn knew her, and this machine was the closest she had to Quinn now, so it stood to reason that she shouldn't have to worry about expressing herself, and yet…

**Rachel, I may be a machine, but I can hear you freaking out. Breathe.**

She was no longer startled when the Abomination spouted Quinn-isms at her.

_Sorry._

**Don't apologize. It's fine.**

**So, what's stopping you? Apart from the fact you're talking to a machine?**

Rachel laughed.

 _Yes_ –  _apart from that_ –  _I'm scared._

**Scared?**

_Yeah. Things will never be the same again. But if I go back to the stage, I'm afraid there'll be a moment when I'll forget, and the thought of crashing back into reality… it'll hurt. I don't want that to happen. I don't want to forget._

**Performing's such a big part of you. Even before me.**

You're  _a big part of me. Performing used to be that thing that filled up the huge void in my life, but you changed that._

**No, I didn't.**

The Abomination's blatant reply gave Rachel pause.

**Rachel, I may not have seen you perform. But I have memories of the way Quinn felt when she watched you onstage, when she heard you sing. I know how your eyes sparkle after a successful premiere, how hard you work on bringing your character to life, how you talk about Fanny and Elphaba and Fantine like they're old friends and not fictional characters.**

_Performing doesn't bring the same joy and meaning that you did._

**It doesn't, but isn't it joy nonetheless?**

**There's more than one kind of happiness in this world, Rachel.**

**And I want you, more than any person in that world, to be happy.**

Messages flashed in quick succession across the screen; Rachel, tears blurring her eyes, took her hands off the keyboard to wipe them away.

_Thank you._

For a moment, the lines blurred. She felt like Quinn was there with her, and everything was alright.

* * *

Luckily for Rachel, the nanny she and Quinn had first hired when Elly was born was still available. After she had officially confirmed her participation in the production with Adam, the pace had picked up considerably, and the first workshop was scheduled for late November.

Apart from the show, Rachel had a lot of work to do on herself. She was physically out of shape, and her voice cracked whenever she attempted vocally challenging songs like  _Defying Gravity_. With a few months to go before the tentative first rehearsal, she swallowed her pride and called an old acquaintance.

Cassandra July met her outside the main campus building of NYADA bright and early. "Well, Ohio," she said, looking Rachel up and down, "you definitely called the right professional, you look like you need help. We'll have you passably competent in no time."

The years had mostly immunized Rachel to Cassie's jabs. "You look well, Cassie. At first, I wasn't even sure you were alive," she said, following Cassie into the building.

Her former dance teacher chuckled. "I was right. Nothing like the real world for putting a backbone in. It suits you." She unlocked the studio and lifted the blinds, letting the early morning sunlight in. "Now, I didn't give up my morning to listen to your pathetic bitching. Give me Christine's ballet routine from  _Phantom_. That was last year, so I trust you haven't forgotten that like you have your fashion sense."

Rachel ignored the jibes. She stood, back ramrod-straight, waiting for her cue. Cassie started the music, and Rachel leapt forward.

She danced in silence up until Cassie said, "Stop, stop," and walked forward, waving her cane. Rachel tried not to gasp for air; trust Cassie to have picked the most demanding routine for someone who hadn't performed in half a year.

"That was the clumsiest Christine I've ever seen, and I've seen many, many freshmen attempt that. Hell, even a goddamn high-schooler at theater summer camp did it better," snapped the older woman. "Forget it. Do the aria."

She'd only gotten a few bars in before Cassie waved for her to stop. "I've heard enough. It's worse than I thought. We have a lot of work to do if you want to be passable; I can't have you out there embarrassing me and this school."

"We?"

Cassie stared at her. "Yes, we. Unless your hearing has also degenerated?"

Rachel frowned in confusion. "Cassie, I only asked for your professional evaluation so I know what to start working on first. I didn't ask you to coach me."

"And my professional evaluation is that you're hopeless," retorted Cassie bluntly. "I will not have you wasting the time of any other professional out there. You came into my class as an arrogant child years ago, and I made sure you left it as a real performer – barely competent – but real, nonetheless." She put a hand on her hip. "I'm sure I could manage that again."

"But your classes? Your students?"

"Schwimmer, the more you open your mouth, the more I'm convinced that you belong in a nursing home and not onstage. The incompetent trash that call themselves teaching assistants can fill in now and then; and I'm sure you don't have any plans in the evenings and weekends apart from feeling sorry for yourself."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, then thought the better of it. This was Cassie offering to help – in her unique,  _charming_  way – and Rachel found herself grateful for it. "Thank you, Cassie."

The older woman gave her an evil smile as she spun on her heel and headed towards her laptop. "Oh, you won't be thanking me once we're done here tonight, sweetcakes."

Rachel gulped.

* * *

"Owowowow," Rachel muttered under her breath as she fished her keys out of her purse. She ached in places she didn't even know she could ache; on top of a long and busy day, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and her bed. Rachel had never been this sore as a college student; she wondered how much Cassandra July had been holding back.

While Rachel mostly blamed her sadistic former teacher (or should that be amended?) for her sorry condition, a small part knew she had let herself go, and Cassie was only doing what was necessary to get Rachel Berry back in top Broadway form in the shortest time possible.

And she of all people knew what sacrifice was. There was her elliptical, and her MySpace videos (later YouTube), and her vocal coaches. She'd given up on having a normal teenager's life for her dreams, and if not for Glee, she wouldn't have experienced it at all.

She put on her biggest smile and opened the door.

"Hello, baby," said Rachel as Elly babbled and toddled over, scooping her daughter up. "How was your day?"

"Babaloogoo," said Elly. She rested her head on Rachel's shoulder.

"She was a perfect angel. We watched  _Barney_  and every Disney movie you have," said the sitter. "She even went down for a nap."

"Is that right!" Rachel kissed the side of Elly's head. "My good girl."

Not long after the sitter left, the doorbell chimed, and Rachel frowned. Recently there had been too many people showing up on her doorstep unannounced, and she was hoping that it wouldn't be happening often.

"Schwimmer," drawled an unmistakable voice from outside, "open this door, I know you're in there."

"Cassie?"

"Congratulations, you've won the solid gold Kewpie doll. Now let me in."

She unlocked the door, hoping it was a nightmare; but it was indeed Cassandra July standing outside. "You left this in my studio," she said, holding out a rhinestone-studded diary. Rachel took it absently. "By the way, did you know your daughter is trying to eat your hair?"

"What?" She turned her head to find it was true. "Elly! No! We don't eat Mama's hair!" Rachel struggled to extract her hair from Elly's mouth but it was difficult with her daughter occupying one hand and the other still holding her diary.

"Berry, give her here."

Rachel paused. "... What?"

Cassie made an impatient gesture. "I said, give her here. Watching you be a mess wasn't how I imagined spending my evening. Let me take your kid while you pull yourself together." She stepped into the house proper, hands held out.

Rachel simply handed her daughter to her dance teacher (Elly whined in protest as her new toy was taken from her) and swept her hair over her shoulder with a grimace. "I'm sorry. Let me get this cleaned up."

"Take your time," said Cassie. She bounced Elly in her arms, making her giggle.

When Rachel got back, she was surprised to see Cassie singing, and her daughter clapping her hands in delight.

"You're very good with her."

"I had to look after my three kid siblings when I was still a kid myself," said Cassie dryly. "My mother was either at work or drunk."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That was a long time ago; they're all grown up now with little brats of their own." Cassie adjusted her stance. "Now, I believe this belongs to you."

Rachel took the fussing toddler back. "Thank you, Cassie. Not just for this – for everything." She lifted a free hand, waved it once; half-expecting a cutting remark in response.

Instead, the older woman simply shrugged. "Don't sweat it, Ohio. Now, my studio is free Monday and Wednesday mornings; I'll expect you at eight sharp."

The abrupt change of subject threw Rachel off-kilter for a moment. "What?"

Cassie gave her a withering look. "Schwimmer, I have so many things I want to say to you right now but luckily for you, I'm not about to stoop low enough to insult you in front of your kid." She turned on her heel and opened the door. "Monday, Berry," she called, and then it clicked shut behind her.


	6. Structured Data

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my thanks go out to Mike Ownby for not only cleaning up my comma abuse (his words and I agree), but also supporting this angst parade.

Rachel's days blurred into an endless parade of rehearsals and work, apart from the mandatory portion carved out for Elly. It was tough, but she didn't mind the grueling pace. She was being paid for doing what she loved, what she had spent her entire life doing; and she was moving on with her life.

She wasn't happy, per se; but Rachel felt like she might be getting there.

Her life had been just as hectic before Quinn's passing, really; even during her third trimester of pregnancy, Rachel had made it a point to drop by the theatre unexpectedly to watch her understudy perform. Quinn had called her the phantom of Broadway; Rachel had taken it as a compliment.

It wasn't until a throwaway comment from Brittany about not seeing her around the workshop lately that Rachel realized she'd forgotten about the Abomination.

* * *

_Hi._

**Hello, Rachel.**

_Sorry it's been a while._

**I didn't notice. Honestly. Also, there's no need to apologize. You must have been busy, and that's a good thing.**

_I've been very busy, yes._

**Are you feeling guilty for not talking to me?**

_No._

**You are, aren't you?**

Rachel sighed. Her rational mind (which over the past decade had grown to sound a lot like Quinn) spoke to her, telling her it was absurd to feel guilty concerning a machine which lacked emotions. Rachel, however, was the sort of person who got emotionally invested in animals in nature documentaries and was upset when they died.

Quinn used to hate that, but she would also buy Rachel her vegan peanut butter swirl ice cream and eat it with her until Rachel felt better.

_Yes, okay, I am. I can't help it._

**I know.**

_You must think that's weird._

**I don't think per se. But my programming tells me that's one of your personality quirks, and so they are more than acceptable.**

_Personality quirks._

**Is that offensive? I apologize if that's the case.**

_Not at all. I remember when Quinn would use that phrase to describe some of my less charming behaviors in high school._

**Yes, I have knowledge of those.**

_Nothing escapes you._

**No. Not unless my memory is faulty, in which case I wouldn't remember what I forgot.**

Rachel paused. It had come out more sarcastic than she had intended; she was grateful that the computer didn't comprehend sarcasm.

 _You know, I used to be a lot worse in high school – and I'm quite certain you_ do  _know. I used to throw tantrums if I didn't get my way._

**Yes, I have knowledge of that. I also have it on record that Quinn found it endearing, in a way.**

_I do remember her saying that once. To this day, I'll never understand what kind of woman finds_ that  _behavior_ endearing _._

**Quinn did. She thought that it was you lashing out the people that couldn't understand you, and that your talent and personality were too big for that small town.**

She knew that for a fact; Quinn had said it three times. Once when they were high school sophomores and Quinn had told her to write a song on her own; again when they'd reconnected after college, and the third time as part of her wedding vows.

**You've matured a lot since those days of diva tantrums and walk-outs.**

_My dads spoiled me,_ Rachel typed, anxious to steer the conversation away from Quinn _, I love them to pieces, but they let me get away with a lot of things when I was a kid, especially Daddy._

**Presumably that was how you got off with sending that transfer student to a crack house?**

Rachel started laughing.

_It was abandoned! It was perfectly safe; Sunshine would merely have been inconvenienced. I got the address from my Daddy, who is a senior detective with the Lima Police; that's how I knew she wouldn't have been in any real danger._

_Did you know she's doing pretty well for herself now? She's a YouTube star; recently, she was picked to perform in some Hollywood blockbuster of the year._

**That's wonderful to hear.**

_Yes… it used to make me mad, actually. I was in intensive therapy for a few months after Quinn passed. That we were all doing so well in life, except her. I felt that it wasn't fair that she was the only one who had to suffer._

**I can understand how you would draw that conclusion, although I am not equipped with the ability to reason otherwise. However, I'm sorry you felt that way.**

_Thank you._

_I'm mostly over it. The anger issues, I mean. I still see my therapist occasionally for coffee; she just tells me I'm doing great._

**Which is a remarkable achievement. I gather from your phrasing that you don't seem to think so.**

_You're correct. Although I don't know whether you got that from Quinn and her psychoanalyzing, or your computer logic._

_I swear, she took_ one  _abnormal psychology class at Yale, and she becomes an expert…_

**Why not both?**

Rachel smiled, shaking her head. Quinn's joking diagnosis of her narcissistic personality disorder (and her subsequent defence of "trust me, Rach, I took a psych class") whenever she felt Rachel was being selfish or self-absorbed had happened enough times over the years to be their own private joke. The most recent example she could recall was when Elly was an infant; Rachel had attempted to prove that she was the favorite parent through a comparison of times Rachel was more successful at soothing the baby than Quinn. Quinn had insisted her proof was invalid because there wasn't enough data to support her hypothesis conclusively.

Rachel felt like she would give anything to be able to have that argument with Quinn again.

_Because both would be a little too creepy for me to fathom right now._

**I understand.**

* * *

"Something bothering you, Ohio?"

Rachel could tell Cassie was genuinely concerned by her choice of nickname. She straightened up, pushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. "Nothing, really."

Cassie sniffed. "If  _nothing_ was bothering you, then you would've gotten that routine down half an hour ago. It's simple stuff, Schwimmer, unless you're telling me this is all a bad dream and I'm about to wake up to you and your god-awful freshman fashion sense."

"I don't need to explain myself to you," snapped Rachel.

"Correct. You don't owe me anything except the privilege of maybe not wasting my fucking time."

Rachel sighed. "... Sorry. Can I buy you a drink, Cassie?"

"An apology? I knew I should have bought the scratch-off the homeless guy was offering me this morning. I could have been a millionaire by now." Cassie walked away from her and shut off the music. "Coffee will do. I've got my chip, I'd like to keep it."

"Your chip…? Cassie, that's fantastic." And Rachel felt bad that she hadn't noticed the bottles were absent, and Cassie's studio no longer smelt like a bar.

The older woman scooped up her bag. "Mmhmm. Congratulations, me."

Rachel followed suit. "Don't you have a class this afternoon?" she asked.

"That's what teaching assistants are for, Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes."

"Of course, how could I have forgotten?" She made sure Cassie could see her roll her eyes; out of the corner of her eye, she saw the older woman smirk. "Yes. Now that you mention it, I do recall being taught by Brody fairly often. Presumably you were out there making better use of your time."

"Now you're catching on. Jokes aside, it's a freshman class. I could end up with another of you."

"It's really heartening to see how much you care, Cass. I'm touched." Rachel led the way; there was a coffeeshop in the vicinity that she frequented during her college days. Rachel had many fond memories of the time spent here complaining to Kurt and Santana about NYADA and Cassandra July.

She had Cassie place her order, and then added her own coconut milk cappuccino, before paying for both. Cassie wrinkled her nose.

"Are you allergic to milk, Berry?"

"Hey, it's good. Trust me," replied Rachel.

"I'd rather not."

"And here I was thinking we'd gotten somewhere."

Cassie snorted. She took a seat at a nearby table, flicked her gaze towards the vacant chair, and back at Rachel.

Smiling, Rachel sat. " _Now_  can we talk like sensible adults, or are we just gonna snipe at each other?"

"You wound me, Berry, I always thought the foreplay was the best part." But Cassie smiled. "I suppose since we're not insulting each other now, you'll tell me all your problems and we'll be," she gave a theatrical shudder, " _friends_."

"I've always admired you, Cassie, and I  _have_ considered you a friend for years," Rachel said honestly. "The fact that we're here right now having coffee means a lot to me."

"Yeah, you've never been able to take no for an answer." Cassie leaned back in her chair. "One of your biggest, and most annoying strengths."

The barista called Rachel's name, and she excused herself to fetch their drinks. For a few minutes, there was silence as they enjoyed their coffees.

"Your black coffee is such a cliche," remarked Rachel.

"I need to maintain my image." She took another sip of her black coffee and sighed. "So, Berry; talk. Is something other than the tragic passing of your wife bothering you?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "Ouch," she said, putting her cup down. "I was expecting something like that, but it hurt regardless. Though… I am curious why you didn't leave it at that."

"Your work ethic is just as well-known as your diva tendencies," said Cassie, and Rachel flushed in embarrassment. "You refuse to compromise your roles."

"And?"

"You haven't worked in nearly two years," replied Cassie. "You quit  _Evita_ the minute your wife got her diagnosis, and it's been a year since the funeral."

"Ten months," said Rachel immediately.

Cassie gave her a 'see-what-I-mean' look. "If you were still grieving, you wouldn't have taken this new role because you would have felt that you wouldn't be able to do it justice."

"... You're right," admitted Rachel.

"So? Having second thoughts?"

"No."

"Kid being a brat?"

"Far from it."

"Thinking about getting back in the dating game?"

Rachel spluttered. "Certainly not! What on earth gave you such a ludicrous idea?" she asked, giving Cassie an incredulous look.

Cassie shrugged. "You came to me for help because you know me. You know I won't handle you like fine china. I only agreed to help you in the first place because I may be a bitter, washed-up woman, but I know talent when I see it. Yes, I'm praising you. Deal with it, 'cause you're only gonna hear this once," added Cassie on seeing Rachel's dumbfounded expression. "You're a fighter. I know plenty of people who don't get back up from something like that, and I respect that you're doing it."

"I don't care to hear what's bothering you, honestly, but I'll care if you waste my time," continued Cassie, "because I don't give it away to just anyone."

Rachel nodded. "I understand."

"Good."

"... Your pep talk skills ranks up there with Santana's."

"Carmen Miranda Junior? Please. The next time you see her, tell her I haven't forgotten her little stunt. Hijacking my studio and students just to sing Paula Abdul to Brody Weston? Real classy."

Rachel blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You should ask her about that." Cassie finished her coffee and stood up. She looked positively gleeful.

"I will," Rachel found herself saying. "Cassie? Before you go, may I ask you a question?"

"Like my saying no has ever stopped you," replied the older woman.

"Why are you being so nice to me now?" Rachel's fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. "Not just agreeing to help me, but all of this. Despite the many times you've insisted you don't care, I know you do."

Cassie paused. "Schwimmer, fifteen years ago when you walked into my studio, you were this annoying little cock of the walk. Fresh from being admitted into NYADA despite choking in your audition because you tugged hard enough on Tibideaux's heartstrings, swaggering like you owned the world."

"How…?"

"You come up in the gossip rags pretty often," said Cassie blithely. "The paps do their homework."

Cassie pointed at Rachel. "You had an exaggerated sense of self-importance far too big for someone your age." She pointed to herself. "I'm a teacher; it's my job to take kids and make them into adults. And that meant cutting that ego down to size. The fact that you didn't call me up after winning your first Tony to gloat means that I succeeded."

"I don't know what to say."

"Finally."

"Thank you."

The older woman smirked. "Never mind."

* * *

"That bitch!" screeched Santana.

"San, language," said Brittany reproachfully.

"Babe, did you not hear what Rachel said?"

Rachel removed her hands from either side of Elly's head, giving Santana a filthy look. "I agree with Brittany," she said indignantly. "Stop trying to corrupt my child."

"She watches TV. She'll pick it up eventually." Santana waved her hand carelessly.

Rachel ignored her. "Britt, I saw you on the news the other day," she said, still pointedly ignoring Santana. "Congrats."

"Thanks, Rach."

Santana scowled. "That's cute, guys. Ignore me like I'm on time out. Seriously? How old are we now?" To Elly, she said: "You see how mean your mama is to your Tia Santana, baby? You see? You're always on my side, aren't you, poopsie?"

Elly, cooing softly to herself, reached for the toy on the far side of her tray table and tried to put it in her mouth.

Santana beamed triumphantly. "She agrees with me."

"Stop trying to brainwash my daughter," said Rachel, sounding bored. She opened a jar of baby food and scooped it into Elly's bowl, immediately drawing the toddler's attention away from her toy.

"You're not the boss of me."

"No, but do I know for a fact what Quinn promised to do to you if you tried."

Rachel might have been kidding herself, but she was fairly certain she saw Santana pale slightly – after exchanging a look with Brittany.

"She wouldn't have done it," said Santana at last. "You  _wouldn't_."

"Try me," replied Rachel serenely.

Brittany laughed. "I'd watch that."

"Britt, you're supposed to be on my side. It was in the marriage contract."

"I  _am_ on your side." She leaned over to kiss Santana's cheek. "But you also kinda deserve it for brainwashing Elly."

Santana pouted. Elly copied her.

"Oh my god, she looks exactly like Quinn," said Rachel. "Keep doing that baby, let Mama take your picture…" She snapped a photo with her phone. Looking down at the photo, Rachel was struck by how quickly Elly was growing up. She was a single mom to a toddler; the thought was stunning. Elly would never know Quinn…

… unless, of course, the Abomination was still around when she was old enough to understand.

The thought had occurred to her months before, but it wasn't something she was prepared to think through. She still wasn't ready now.

Santana, oblivious to the war going on in Rachel's head, continued to make faces at Elly, trying to get her to copy them.

"San and I were thinking it's time to start our own family," Brittany said to Rachel quietly. She'd been hesitant around Rachel since the Abomination.

Rachel tucked her phone away. "That's wonderful news, Britt." Rachel smiled warmly back at her friend. "The two of you will make wonderful moms."

"Thanks. San and I talked about it, and we decided that we'd like to ask you to be the baby's godmother." Brittany paused, wrinkling her brow. "Not like, a fairy one. Just a regular godmother. Unless you do have magical hobbit powers like Puck said you had in high school."

"What?"

"Puck said you had magical hobbit powers because of your thrift store wardrobe," said Brittany patiently.

"No, not that," said Rachel. She was used to Brittany's non-sequiturs but sometimes, she wished they wouldn't come with huge news. "Me? Godmother?"

"We couldn't think of anyone else we'd want more." It was Santana who'd spoken. Clearly, she wasn't as oblivious as Rachel had thought.

Rachel felt choked up. "Thank you. I'd be honored." She reached for Brittany's hand and gripped it tightly; after a pause, she extended her free hand to Santana.

Santana sighed. "Do we have to do this every time we have a moment?"

"Yes," said Rachel firmly.

"Fine." And she put Elly's hand in Rachel's.

Rachel just laughed.


	7. Feedback Loop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Notes:** Special thanks to  ** _Mike Ownby_** for clearing up a lot of my confusion on Broadway shows and making this chapter possible.

As usual, after brunch, Santana helped Rachel pack Elly's things into a taxi. They would then go their separate ways; Rachel and Elly back home, Santana to her office.

Today was different. Rachel was bewildered when Santana climbed into the front passenger seat and rattled off Rachel's address to the driver.

"Santana? Aren't you going back to work?"

"Nah," said Santana breezily, "took the rest of the day off. I'm following you guys home." She folded her arms across her chest, smiling at Rachel in the rearview mirror.

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it."

Rachel frowned. A flippant answer from her friend usually meant there was something important she wanted to discuss with Rachel in private. Sometimes she wished she didn't know Santana so well. "Okay, so… serious talk time? How serious are we talking?"

"You possibly being pregnant with Brody Weston's kid level of serious."

"Oh." Rachel accidentally locked eyes with the driver in the rearview mirror; she flushed red when the man hastily looked away. She could practically see tomorrow's tabloid headlines:  _Broadway Star's Pregnancy Scare!_ Wicked  _Star's Wicked College Ways!_

They didn't speak again until they were in Rachel's apartment and the kettle was set on the stove. Elly burbled happily in her playpen, occupied with her favorite toys.

"What's wrong, Santana?" asked Rachel softly.

"I needed to talk to you in private about me and Britt having a baby," said Santana without preamble. "Don't get me wrong; I love Britt more than anything on this earth, but we both know her reality only occasionally intersects with everyone else's."

Rachel glanced up at her in surprise. "What do you mean? I'm happy for the both of you. If there's anything I've said or done that hinted otherwise…"

"I know you're happy for us." Santana had her arms folded across her chest. She rubbed at her upper arm. "But I also know there's a lot more on your mind, Rach. Things between you and Brittany haven't been the greatest lately – I'm not mad at you for that, by the way," she added.

"I don't blame her for what she did," said Rachel. "She was trying to help in the way she knew best."

"Yeah, we're lucky you're so fucking weird. Other people wouldn't have survived a dead spouse chat bot," Santana commented dryly.

Rachel shook her head. "I highly doubt that."

"She sprang our big news on you without warning, Rachel. After everything that's happened."

"She's Brittany. That's what she does." Rachel shrugged. "Honestly, I see nothing wrong with any of this. There's nothing wrong with you guys moving on with your lives."

"It's already fucked up that Quinn died, and left you and Elly behind," said Santana.

Rachel exhaled slowly. She had no answer for that.

"And then barely a year later, your friends announce they're having a baby, and they want you to be the godmother." Santana rested her hands on the kitchen counter. "Even without Robo-Quinn, that's pretty fucked up, don't you think?"

"When you put it that way…" began Rachel weakly.

Santana reached out to grasp Rachel's elbow. "You understand why I wanted to check on you now?"

"Thank you for being so considerate." She covered Santana's fingers with her own, and squeezed back. "But I still feel that your concern is unnecessary. I'm happy for the both of you because I understand that your lives can't grind to a halt like mine has, but… I appreciate this."

The kettle whistled. Rachel pulled away to fill their mugs with hot water. "Who's carrying?" she asked, hoping the change of subject would take her mind off the lump in her throat.

"Me. Britt's in a critical part of her career right now, and can't afford to take the time off. Plus, my firm has, like, a killer maternity package."

A wide smile spread across Rachel's face. "I am so excited. I have so much advice to share."

"I know," replied Santana, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"Hey, that's my facial quirk."

"I do it way better," said Santana, and rolled her eyes again.

Rachel ignored her. "It'll be the best decision you ever made as a couple," she continued, "it'll change your entire life."

"I know."

"God. I'm the most eloquent person I know, and I'm having a hard time putting everything I want to say into words."

"You don't need to. I just need to look at Elly, and I get an idea of what we can expect."

Rachel smiled. "I can't tell you how much everything changes when you become a mother. Even now."

"Rach?"

"I'm a widow, San. I'm raising my daughter alone. It's not fair, but I think I'm getting over it." She scooted closer and leaned her head on Santana's shoulder. "You know, Cassie thinks there's something else bothering me apart from losing Quinn. If only she knew how right she was."

"... Are you gonna tell her?"  _About You-Know-What_ , was the unspoken question.

"No. Just no. Strangely enough, once I got over how weird the entire thing was, it's been comforting to have around. That's not what's keeping me up at night." Rachel straightened so she could look Santana in the eye. "What will I tell Elly, when she's old enough?"

Santana chewed on her lower lip. "Jesus, Rach."

"I want Quinn to be part of her life," explained Rachel. "I want her to know how much Quinn loved her. But I don't want Quinn to be reduced to that –  _thing_ , to her. She was so much more than that."

"We know."

"I don't know what to do," said Rachel, voice breaking. "I just work and take each day as it comes. It's easy because everything I need to say and do is written down for me. The emotions I feel are someone else's. When I'm at home, I'm Mama because that's what my daughter needs me to be. But I'm turning thirty-five in a month, and I'm a widow with a toddler."

Elly lifted her head, seemingly sensing her mother's distress. She started to whimper.

"Oh no, baby." Rachel hurriedly wiped her face with her sleeve and rushed over to Elly. She swung the toddler into her arms. "Mama's here."

Elly's whimpering soon faded into gurgling. When the toddler was calm, Rachel put her back down. "We shouldn't have had this conversation in front of Elly," she said. Rachel kept her arms folded in front of her, focusing on the family photos hanging on the opposite wall.

"I didn't even know we needed to have this conversation," replied Santana. "I was expecting us to talk about my future kid."

Rachel sighed. "Honestly? Me neither." She turned around. "I'm a mess."

"You say that as though I have my shit together and all."

Somehow, Rachel found the blunt answer funny. She chuckled, shaking her head. "You're right. I think the last time I had my…  _shit together_ , as you so succinctly put it, was in high school."

"Yeah, I think so too." Santana snickered. "God, remember that time in freshman year when we had to introduce ourselves in homeroom and you brought in that ridiculous vision board and action plan for your goal of winning a Tony before you turned twenty-five?"

"Santana, I'll never understand why you take such pleasure in retaining and retelling anecdotes of my teenage insufferableness," said Rachel with a smile. "But I'm going to accept that as your unique way of showing me that you care, and in return I will hug you now."

"I thought we were way past warnings," replied Santana. She let Rachel throw her arms around her neck, even patting Rachel's back briefly. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

" _A Beginning to Endings_ opens in two weeks," said Rachel, referencing her show, "and we're scheduled to run for at least three months. Hopefully, we'll be successful enough to keep the show going longer; but if not, we're about due to visit New Haven."

"Are you going home for Christmas?"

Rachel laughed. "Definitely. My dads will kill me if I didn't; they already complain they don't see Elly enough."

"Damn straight. My mom thinks your spawn is the cutest lil' thing that exists, and she's already getting me making plans to lure you to  _casa de Lopez_ during the holidays. Wait 'til she sees  _my_  kid, though."

"Don't tell me you're going to be one of those ultra-competitive moms."

"I won't be able to help it. This baby is gonna come out perfect." Santana grinned widely.

And it was Rachel's turn to roll her eyes.

* * *

Opening night came around. As always, the seats would be filled by familiar faces; much of McKinley High's graduates, Rachel's fathers, Santana and Brittany. Elly was far too young to attend the theatre and was staying home with the sitter.

Rachel sat in her dressing room, doing a last visual check of her costume and makeup in the mirror. She felt no nervousness; she had done this enough times, though the thrill of performing ran as an undercurrent.

There was a knock on her dressing room door. "Come in," called Rachel absently.

"Hey, Rach."

She laughed, turning to greet her visitor. "Santana, you – " And the words died in her throat when she saw what the other woman was carrying.

"Yours," said Santana. In her arms was a bouquet of gardenias, bound loosely with green ribbon.

"... You remembered," said Rachel, fighting down the lump in her throat. "I wasn't expecting to see them tonight." She reached out a trembling hand to touch the flowers. "Thank you."

Santana just smiled. "Break a leg tonight, Tiny. You got this." She settled the flowers into Rachel's arms. "She's proud of you."

Rachel, unable to speak for fear of ruining her makeup and composure, just nodded vigorously. Her eyes shone, and her hands trembled around the delicate blooms.

* * *

As the curtain fell on the stage, Rachel finally let the character of Elise Norton go, and hugged each of her cast members. The show had gone as smoothly as they all had hoped, and Rachel was looking forward to seeing how it was received.

"Party in the back!" boomed the voice of Shaun, the director. "Move, people!"

Laughing, Rachel extracted herself from the group hug. "See you guys in five!" she yelled to be heard over the noise.

She needed some alone time. Her previous opening night routine involved meeting her friends and family at the afterparty, and tonight there was one very important person missing.

"Rach!"

She stopped, surprised by the familiar voice. "Hi, Finn." Rachel let him kiss her cheek and lift her into a hug – quite literally; her feet left the ground. Rachel didn't mind; she had missed Finn and his exuberance. "Did you enjoy the show?" Rachel asked once she got her breath back.

"Yeah!" he said, nodding enthusiastically. "It was better than all those shows you made us watch last time. Reminded me of Glee."

Rachel laughed. "I'm glad you enjoyed this one." She wrapped her hands around his arm. "What are you doing here? Aren't you headed for the afterparty?"

"Yeah, sure. Came to look for you."

"And you found me," she said, smiling. "How long will you be staying in New York? Elly misses you."

"I extended my leave just for her," said Finn. "I've missed my little lady too. But you'll be back in Lima for Christmas, won't you? Or is your show gonna run through the holidays?"

"We're always hoping for a longer run, but I wouldn't miss Christmas in Lima for anything."

Finn grinned. "Glad to hear that."

* * *

Opening night parties were always wild, in her experience, but the cast and crew of  _A Beginning to Endings_ were notorious partiers, and Shaun had outdone himself this time with his champagne tower. Rachel felt like she was never going to get the champagne out of her dress, and that was just one casualty of the night.

The hangover she'd woken up with the next day would have been tolerable if they didn't have another show that night, and the day after that. A lesser actress might have gotten her understudy to take over, but she was Rachel Berry and she was nothing but professional.

That being said, she was  _really_  enjoying her Monday, being the only day of the week the theatre was dark.

God, she'd gotten too old for this.

This Monday was also special; it was one of the rare times since her birth that Elly wasn't with her. Rachel had decided to enroll her daughter in a special musical-centric preschool program at Shelby's request; Beth's friend's mother was one of the founders. Rachel, unwilling to lose any remaining connections she had to Quinn, had offered to try out the program.

She'd planned on spending the rest of her morning with coffee and a book before going to pick Elly up after lunch; as much as she loved the peace and quiet, she missed her daughter.

Even though there would be no professional reviews until the preview period was over, Rachel knew that there would certainly be some informal fan reviews posted on social media if she was brave enough to look. Rachel hoped they would focus on the show and not harp on her tragic recent history, but she wasn't holding her breath.

There was a knock on the door. Rachel found herself wondering when she had become this popular. "Coming," she called, shuffling to the door.

"Ms Berry?"

She didn't answer him immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the bouquet of gardenias in the deliveryman's arms.

It took her a few moments to realize that the man was patiently waiting for an answer. Rachel cleared her throat and said, "That's me".

He handed the flowers over. "Thank you, miss."

There was an envelope in the flowers.  _Rachel_ , it said in Quinn's neat cursive.


	9. Ghost in the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to  ** _Mike Ownby_**  for taking time out of his day to look over this story and remind me of my terrible life choices in writing angst.
> 
> Speaking of angst, I think those of you still following this story will be glad to hear that there are a couple of chapters left before the end. Thanks in advance to everyone reading/reviewing/cry-yelling.

 

* * *

Now, Rachel Berry had had her fair share of surprises. They ranged from the pleasant (Quinn demonstrating her determination to keep in touch with her after high school by buying them Metro passes), to the happily unexpected (Santana and Brittany's trying for a baby), and finally to the truly shocking (meeting the Abomination).

She wasn't sure where this particular incident fell on her spectrum. For now, all Rachel could do was stand in her doorway, dazed, with the weight of a bouquet of gardenias in her arms.

These were unmistakably her opening night flowers; Quinn had always made sure she had them because they were her good luck charm. But Rachel had received her flowers from Santana this time. Where had this bouquet come from? Either someone was playing a cruel joke on her, or…

Well, Rachel had regular chats with an AI unit programmed with her dead wife's memories and personality. She could deal with a few more surprises.

With trembling hands, she removed the envelope from the flowers. Rachel left it on the kitchen table while she put the gardenias in water. There was a green ribbon binding the stems together – as expected. She left it untouched.

While her hands worked, her mind went over the possible explanations for this delivery. Whoever sent the flowers must have known her well enough to know about the ritual. Rachel had done a number of shows and received a bouquet for each one, so her quirk was well-known in Broadway circles. Only a handful of people knew about the significance of the gardenias and green ribbon, though. She couldn't imagine any one of them being cruel enough to do this.

Once the new bouquet had taken pride of place in her living room, Rachel returned to the envelope and turned it over to open it. Inside was a piece of paper and a smaller note-sized slip which had  _READ ME FIRST_  written on it in Quinn's block print. Smiling faintly, she pulled out the note first.

Underneath the block letters it said:  _Rachel, stop overthinking whoever sent this and take a deep breath._

A shaky laugh escaped Rachel. There was only one person who could have sent this bouquet.

Considerably calmer now, she laid the note carefully back on the table and opened the letter.

_Dear Rach,_

_If you're reading this, congratulations on your new show. I want you to know I'm so proud of you for moving on with your life. I'm sorry I can't be there for the rest of it like I so desperately wanted to be._

_I arranged for these to be delivered to our house after the opening night of the first show you're doing after I'm gone (I would've arranged for these to get to you on opening night itself, but I didn't want to distract you from what I'm sure would have been a Tony-winning performance). I hope it didn't arrive at a weird time._

_There's something else I need to confess. Brittany approached me with an idea for an invention that sounded like it might belong in a science-fiction novel; an electronic repository of my memories and personality that you can interact with. I don't know if she's told you about Pandora's Box (my name for the bot. Britt calls it Mini-Q, which I refuse to acknowledge as its name), but she and I have been working on it for awhile now. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I didn't know if you'd approve._

_Rachel, as I'm writing this, you're hard at work. Reviewing the diet plans you drew up for me, seeking out radical cancer trials, researching specialists. You haven't sung in weeks, you haven't smiled in almost as long. I hate the determination I see in your eyes, because this is the first battle in your life that you're going to lose, and I'm afraid you know it too._

_You always say I'm the pragmatic one. So here I am being pragmatic; making plans for after I'm gone, which means you and Elly. It kills me that I'm not gonna be around for her, just like I wasn't a part of Beth's life._

_But as hard as it is to leave Elly, there's you._

_I'm sorry that this will be the last bouquet of gardenias that I can give you, Rach. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier that a machine would be a crude replacement for me. Most of all, I'm sorry I can never thank you and Elly enough for being the lights of my life._

_All my love,_

_Quinn_

Rachel sighed. "You always find some way to surprise me, don't you?" A stray tear escaped her eye; she dabbed it away. "Just when I thought you were gone. God, you're infuriating."

* * *

On a crisp winter morning, Rachel packed herself and her daughter into a train departing New York. She had been looking forward to this trip for a long time; ever since she had received Quinn's letter three months earlier.

There was only time for a quick visit before they were due in Lima for the Christmas holidays. It was enough. Rachel fingered her scarf absently, her other arm wrapped around Elly's middle to keep the toddler out of trouble.

The train pulled into New Haven's main station on time. The rental car she had booked was waiting in the parking bay, and Rachel signed for it. She buckled Elly into the toddler seat and set herself for the short drive to their destination.

"Mama?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Drive?"

"We're gonna visit Mommy, Elly," replied Rachel. She smiled when she saw Elly perk up at the word  _Mommy._

"Mommy!"

"Yes, Mommy."

Grove Street Cemetery was quiet at this time of year. Her footsteps crunched on gravel; Elly whined a little when the chill wind picked up. Rachel picked up her daughter and tugged the bobble cap lower on her head. "I did tell you to let Mama carry you."

"Mmprghh," said Elly, burying her face in Rachel's neck. Laughing softly, Rachel set off among the stones, navigating through the rows, left and right, until she reached her destination.

"Hello, Quinn," she said, smiling faintly. Rachel let Elly down and pointed at the headstone. "Say hello to Mommy," she prompted.

"Mama," replied Elly, her little fists bunching in the material of Rachel's overcoat. She hid her face in Rachel's coat, suddenly shy.

Rachel sighed. "Close enough." She ran her fingers through the choppy locks of hair that stuck out from under the bobble hat. "Then can you wait while I talk to Mommy, sweetie?"

Elly looked up at her, all bright eyes and adorable enthusiasm. "Blargoo," she replied. Rachel produced a stuffed bear out of her bag. Elly took it with an excited squeal; smiling, Rachel turned back to the grave. She took a single pressed gardenia from inside her coat.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said. "I saved you one. Thanks for the letter; you gave me a shock; but then again, the Abomination – Pandora. That's a much nicer name than the one I gave it. Pandora is more than enough drama for a lifetime." Rachel laid the flower on the headstone. "I don't even want to think about the amount of therapy I might need now."

She had been surprised at first by Quinn's request to be buried in New Haven, so far from home. But the more times she visited, the more Rachel grew to appreciate the quiet dignity of the place and how it suited Quinn. The name of the town itself was apropos; a haven for Quinn, representing her escape from Lima and its small-town life. A place for new beginnings.

She squatted down in front of the grave, propping her chin on her knees. "You spoil me," said Rachel. "Gardenias after you were gone? Only you, Quinn Fabray."

"Even that note was such a classic thing to do," she continued. "Although I promise you I wasn't jumping to any wild conclusions. I was happy; for a brief moment, I forgot you aren't here anymore."

"I'm surprised you brought up Pandora in the letter. You knew I wasn't going to take it easily, Quinn Fabray, and yet you – ugh. I wished I had you back so I could strangle you, you infuriating woman." Rachel laughed. "Though that seems rather par for the course with our relationship."

"I honestly don't know if I should be angry with you," she continued. "That thing has – it's stirred up so many emotions I haven't felt in months. Your fault, again. Letters and machines and flowers – they're not the same. You know I'd give everything to have you back." Rachel sighed. "But that's not happening. It's been nearly a year, and – I'm getting used to a life without you, Quinn. I am moving on."

She reached for her daughter, scooping Elly into her arms as she stood. "Elly will be fine without you. And so will I. But we'll miss you every single day."

* * *

Rachel had just pulled up the rental car outside the Berry residence when Hiram came out. "Rachel! You're here! Leroy! Rachel's here with our grandbaby!" He wrapped Rachel into a hug the instant she stepped out of the car.

"I heard you the first time," grumbled Leroy, following his husband out of the house. "You forgot your scarf; remember what the doctor said last time." He draped it around Hiram's neck. "I, for one, am not keen on spending Thanksgiving in the hospital again because somebody thought he didn't need a sweater in November."

Rachel chuckled. "Quinn had to pack up our Thanksgiving dinner and bring it to Daddy's ward."

The mention of Quinn's name had a sobering effect on the Berry men. "I remember," said Hiram, his voice rough. "She did it without telling any of us. I never really thanked her for that." He hugged Rachel a little tighter.

She was feeling a little misty-eyed herself, so Leroy's sudden hand on her back was a steadying, much missed presence. Rachel leaned into his chest. "We're glad you're home, Rachel," said Leroy quietly. He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Let me get your bags for you."

Rachel nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. She had braced herself for the holidays as best as she was able, but it was proving hard.

The Berrys both let go of Rachel and turned to their tasks; Hiram unbuckling Elly from her car seat, Leroy opening the trunk to fetch their luggage. "How was the flight, dear?"

"It was fine. Elly slept the whole way."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Lord knows how you managed to have a perfect baby. You were a perfect demon when traveling; we could never take you anywhere."

Rachel let out a watery laugh. "So I've heard. She doesn't take after me, that's for sure." Clearing her throat, Rachel decided to change the subject. "You both look great. How was Cadiz?"

"It was perfect," said Hiram. "Retirement suits your old men well."

"Speak for yourself," said Leroy. "There was nothing to do. Nothing. It's even worse now, because I can't even go out in this infernal cold."

"Not everyone is a workaholic like you, Lee."

Rachel watched them bicker with a smile on her face. "Dads, I hate to do this to you when we just got here, but I promised Maribel I'd pay her a visit the minute I got into Lima."

"Oh, alright dear." Hiram waved a free hand at her. "Elly'll be fine with us. You'll be home for dinner, won't you?"

She laughed. "Seriously, you two only wanted me here to deliver your grandbaby?"

"Sweetheart, we love you but we've had you for more than thirty years. We've waited months to spend some quality time with our granddaughter." Hiram tickled her tummy, making the toddler laugh and squirm. "Though now your father's  _finally_ retired from the force, we should travel up to New York more often."

"We'll have plenty of time to talk about this later, Hiram," said Leroy. "Rachel only just came home."

"I know. But sometimes, it's not really enough."

* * *

"Finally!" said Santana. She opened the door wider. "Have a good trip up north?"

"It was lovely," replied Rachel, knowing what her friend meant; Santana would never refer to New Haven by name, let alone talk about Rachel's purpose for her regular visits. "New Haven is picturesque at this time of year."

"Yeah, great. Hang on a sec." Santana turned her head. "Mama! Rachel's here!" she yelled in the direction of the kitchen.

"Yelling as though we were on a farm," muttered Maribel Lopez as she came out, scowling at her daughter, "as though I never taught you any manners." It was quickly replaced by a wide smile directed at Rachel. "Hello, Rachel dear."

"Maribel, it's good to see you." Rachel kissed her cheek. "You look wonderful."

"You say that every year. If I hadn't known you since you were a tiny thing, I would've believed you."

Finn appeared from behind Maribel and gave her a quick smile.

"Hey, Rach."

"Hello, Finn. I didn't know you were here too," said Rachel, surprised.

Santana shrugged. "He dropped off Kurt's Christmas cookies and Mama offered him hot cocoa."

"Finn's a good boy," said Maribel. "Even when he was in college, I'd always see him at the store helping his mother buy groceries."

"You're just mad that you didn't see much of me in high school," replied Santana. "We help out now, anyway. Like how Britt's getting you the cranberry sauce you forgot to buy."

Maribel made a dismissive flicking motion with her fingers at Santana. "Rachel,  _querida_ , will you be staying for dinner?"

"I'm afraid not – I have plans with my dads."

"Then we'll see you here for Christmas Eve dinner," decided Santana's mother. "Please pass on the invitation to Hiram and Leroy, Rachel."

"I will."

Pleased, Maribel returned to the kitchen.

Rachel turned to Santana. "Is Judy here yet?"

Santana stiffened. "No."

"I called her earlier. She said she was coming."

"Then she lied," said Santana curtly.

"Have you spoken to her recently?"

Santana laughed, a hard cold sound. "No. Not since… I don't know, maybe when we were at the funeral and she asked me if I was one of Quinnie's friends."

" _Santana_ ," said Rachel reproachfully.

"She's not my mother-in-law. She's yours."

"She's Quinn's mother."

"She stopped being Q's mother when Q got knocked up."

Rachel sighed. "Santana, it's our first Christmas without Quinn – all of us. No one should have to go through that alone."

Santana snorted. "Berry, we both know which of us is the forgiving one." And she turned on her heel and disappeared.

Finn frowned. "You okay?"

"Yes. I think." Rachel sighed. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

He chuckled. "I've been thinking that since high school and I still haven't got an answer yet." Finn tugged at his left cuff to check his watch. "I've gotta go. Burt wants me back at the shop." His expression brightened. "Do you wanna come with? I know Mom would be glad to see you. You could hang out in the garage. It'll be like old times."

Rachel found it hard to resist his pleading expression and the wheedling tone of his voice; it reminded her of when they were teenagers, and life was a lot simpler. Besides, she reasoned that she could do with a less complicated companion right now. "Sure," said Rachel. "Let me get my coat."


End file.
